


Thunderstorms, with a Chance of Dragons

by xanemarths



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Shin Ankoku Ryuu to Hikari no Ken | Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon, Fire Emblem: Shin Monshō no Nazo | Fire Emblem: New Mystery of the Emblem
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Dragons, Marth is Very Nice, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Xane, Other, Past Abuse, Trans Male Character, Trans Marth, adopting things to take care of, characters to be added as they appear, more dragony manaketes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 10:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9435440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanemarths/pseuds/xanemarths
Summary: Finding an injured dragonperson in an alleyway wasn't exactly how Marth envisioned his day going - but he'll be damned if he doesn't take care of them, curse his weak heart.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I Started This Ages Ago, Fell Out Of The Fire Emblem Fandom A Bit, And Only Now Returned And Decided To Finish It, a novel in fanfic format.

The day is grey and stormy, and Marth is not having a good time. Even though the thunder and lightning has yet to begin (if they ever do), he's grown wary of even the presence of rain; it sets him on edge, ready and watchful in case something bad happens. Besides, and he grumbles, pulling up his hood and unfolding his umbrella, rain means getting wet, involuntarily, and he hates that.  
It did have to be pouring out.

It's a combination of the rain putting him in a bad mood and his position across the street that stopped him from intervening when he saw the car swerve suddenly to a stop, passenger door open briefly to kick a reddish goldish bundle out, and drive away again. Besides, whatever it was disappears long before Marth could think much of it, and he decides to assume that it was best not to interfere anyway.

* * *

The storm did not let up all day; it's gloomy and dreary and if he could he'd have stayed home, but it's far too fucking late for that, and he wants to see Kris, anyway, he always wants to see Kris, Kris makes him happy, even in gloomy and pouring rain. It's early evening when he begins trudging home, and it's still as gloomy as ever, but he's in a slightly less agitated mood and more anxious about the rain than anything else. He's walking home on the street opposite the one he'd started the day on, and when he reaches the alleyway the car had stopped off at earlier, he actually takes the time to look.  
It looks like someone's dripped molten gold all over the place; the rain somehow hasn't fully been able to wash it away despite its best efforts. There's a trail of gold leading into the alley that stops abruptly nearby a pile of trash, and he hesitates. Who knows what it is that made that trail, and who knows if it's something friendly or not.

He swallows. Alleyways always seem unscrupulous and terrifying places, full of wild animals and brutal thugs ready to slit one's throat - and that seems quite the horrific way to go. But then, he hears the tiniest, most pathetic sounding noise he's ever heard in recent memory, and - he can't. He has to see what made it, has to help, somehow.

Nothing in his wildest dreams could have prepared him for what he saw.

They look human at first glance, but even then something is off, and then it sinks in that they have far too pointy ears, and fangs, and patches of scales all over, and tiny patches of feathers too, and they have a tail, and their feet are more like paws than anything else, and oh, they're very clearly not human, but at the same time no animal Marth immediately recognizes. The gold, he realizes belatedly, is coming from them, spilling from a variety of cuts and lacerations in place of blood - no, that _is_ their blood, he decides, fucked up in color though it may be. There seems to be a lot of it, and he wonders how much blood they've lost already; the gold trail must have been blood as well, and they've been here for the entire day...

On top of the blood, he can now guess the source of the pathetic noises they've been making - he can hear a raspiness to their breathing, like they're congested and sick and breathing is hard for them, and between that and the bleeding and the bedraggled and torn clothing and how absolutely small and scared and lost they looked, Marth couldn't help but feel sorry for them.

"Hey," he said softly, and for the first time they seemed to truly register his presence. The change in expression is almost instantaneous; they might be ill and injured, but this seemed to make them all the more on guard against danger. Their ears, already droopy, pressed back down even further, and they snarled wide enough to show all their teeth.

And then they gave a hacking cough, and all their resolve to look scary and threatening melted back into something utterly pathetic. Marth experiences another wave of sympathy, and he holds up his hands to show them empty of anything other than the handle of his umbrella. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you," he tells them, and they narrow their eyes at him (bright red, even when dulled by sickness, too bright to be natural), and he wonders how much of what he's saying they can understand. They don't seem to believe that he's no threat, and show it by shrinking down and away, hissing quietly, or perhaps that's just the sound they're making as they struggle to breathe right.

It's then that the sky decides to be an asshole and finally release the lightning and thunder it had been holding back, and it startles and terrifies Marth, sure, but that's nothing compared to the weird dragonperson's cry, and how suddenly they launch at him, clinging tightly to his shirt and giving a choked noise. The storm, apparently, is now much scarier than he is. He strokes their hair soothingly, absently, still in a state of shock himself, and though they huddle in his lap after a moment, they don't back away again.

They can't stay here, that's for certain; they're soaking wet and they’re freezing and they’re scared and they're sick and they'll bleed to death, and he won't have that. "Do you have anywhere to go? Family, or?"

They stare at him with wide eyes, but don't answer; he decides to take it as either a no, or a simple "I don't understand what you're saying." He tried it again. "Would you mind me picking you up and carrying you to my home, then? You don't look fit to walk, and I’m not entirely sure where else to take you."

They hiss at him for that, but don't protest when he actually tries to pick them up, still clinging tightly to him. He does his best to tuck them into his two sizes too large jacket; it’s not much, but anything is better than what they have now. The umbrella is awkward in his grip now, and certainly not big enough for two. It’ll be a wonder if either of them really stay dry.

This shit is really just happening, he thinks as he walks onward toward home.

* * *

It's about ten minutes later that Marth finally reaches his penthouse, and by then they're both thoroughly drenched. He wastes no time fetching a towel and bundling the dragon up in it, because fuck they're still freezing even after he’d wrapped them in his jacket and they’d huddled against him. He then rushes to his computer, and looking up, quick as he can, 'dragon person' and 'nearest clinics that treat manaketes'.

The search results that come up are few, even in a bigger, "more progressive" city like this. Some even show up as primarily exotic reptile veterinary service (a thought which horrifies Marth with the implications), and all of them are closed right now and none seem to have an emergency specialist for manakete care (though someone at one of the reptile places tells you they could try, but you'd have better luck with a regular doctor anyway, because manakete illnesses resemble humans more often than not). He's out of options, except one, and so he automatically dials someone very important to ask for a very important favor.

“Hey, Elice, I need you to do me a big favor.”

He can hear that she’s rubbing her temples in her voice. “What poor unfortunate soul did you rescue this time that you need me to perform a checkup on?”

“I-I’m sorry?”

“You sound like you did as a little kid, begging to keep a stray without sounding too wholly desperate,” she told him, not without fondness. “Marth, I know you better than anyone. If you see suffering in the world, you always feel you have to do something about it - and this isn’t exactly the first time you’ve called on me for medical assistance after most of the clinics closed for the night.”

Marth flushes, feeling the tips of his ears go red; his sister was right about his predictability. “So, what exactly is it you’ve gotten yourself into now?”

“Well, it’s got wings, and a tail…”

“I’m a doctor, not a veterinarian, Marth, I don’t know how much of my training applies to birds,” Elice told him with a sigh.

“No, but wait! That’s not what I meant, they’re not a bird! They’re a dragon, or, well, at partially dragon? Manakete, I think is what they are, um, and they’re pretty sick and bleeding all over my floor...”  
The phone is silent for a long time, and he wonders for a moment if Elice is still there, or if she somehow hung up on him without him knowing. “I’m on my way.”

* * *

Elice still takes several minutes to reach the penthouse, and the manakete needs more immediate care then that. Marth couldn’t diagnose what was making them sick and congested, and he didn’t have anything to numb them for stitches - but he could at least get any materials ready that Elice might need, and patch up the smaller cuts, and dry their hair, and get them a dry change of clothes, and maybe try and get some broth into them.

He gets most of the work done. Marth hadn’t gone to medical school like Elice, but over the years he’d picked up quite a bit from her, including having an arsenal of bandages and gauzes and various other tools for patching up injuries. The manakete doesn’t mind his hair dryer much, either; they flinch at the noise a few times but otherwise seems to melt a bit, probably enjoying the warmth. Though at first they turn up their nose at the old t-shirt and pj pants he offers, shrinking away and hissing at him even as he tries to tell them they’d be more comfortable in not soaked clothes, as soon as he heads to the kitchen to heat up the soup they must have changed, because he comes back to find them still huddled, but in his clothes. For being so sick and sluggish, they must be pretty quick when they want to, he decides as he slides the soup bowl towards them, trying to ignore the wet rags on his nice floor. They have no problems with eating; they finish the broth quickly as he’d let them and seem to want more, and look incredibly disheartened when he tells them (gently) that that’s all they’re getting for now, because he doesn’t know when they last ate and he doesn’t want them getting sick.

It’s when he tries bandaging them up that they show discomfort; they may have huddled against him all the way home, but that seems to be the limit of how much they’re willing to tolerate his touch for today. The antibiotic cream makes them hiss in quiet discomfort, and he’s only able to get their arms and the cut across their nose before they try to actually bite him. They won’t let him even get near him anymore without snarling, and it’s probably a good thing when he hears Elice’s warning knock to announce her arrival.

The manakete stares at her when she enters the room, clearly suspicious, and they curl up tightly in the corner of the sofa, far away from her as possible. They give a tiny, almost cat-like, warble of discomfort, and Marth tries to calm them. “Hey, it’s okay - this is my sister, Elice. She’s a doctor, okay? She’s going to patch you up and make you feel better.”

Elice smiles, her usual soft, warm smile, and the dragon relents enough for her to get close. “Let’s see what we have here,” she murmurs, reaching for their shirt, and Marth doesn’t have time to warn her before they snap at her. His heart pounds with worry, ready to apologize on behalf of his “new friend”, but Elice seems unharmed and unphased - if anything, perhaps a bit sad. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she murmurs, the same voice she used to comfort him after nightmares. “I need to see your injuries if i’m going to treat them, though - I promise that’s all…”

Slowly, inch by inch, they uncurl, and Elice is able to get a good look - there’s a definite displeasure on her face that makes the dragon squeak, but her touch remains gentle as ever. “Marth, you have everything we need, right? We’ll start by cleaning you up a bit, first, and then I’ll stitch up what I can - you’re already developing infection in some, I fear…”

For the most part, she’s addressing the dragon, not him, and Marth moves to start helping, handing her supplies and holding them still while she works. By the time she’s finished wrapping the last of their injuries in gauze, they look ready to fall asleep, and Marth can’t help but yawn himself. Elice turns to him, and he almost knows what she’s about to say. “I’m fine, Elice, don’t worry.”

His sister knows him far better than that, and she raises an eyebrow at him and stares until he melts. “You’re soaked, Marth. I doubt you took any time for yourself after finding them. Now, doctor’s orders, go and take a warm shower, and change your clothes-”

“I _already_ showered today!” Marth whines, and Elice only sighs.

“Then just change into your pjs, already. If you get sick, as well, who’s going to take care of this manakete?”

Elice also knows him well enough to know what will motivate him. He scrambles to his bedroom, pulling out his best and softest t-shirt and pajama pants and undressing and redressing as quickly as he can. The hoodie he’d worn earlier is still damp, so he reluctantly puts it in the laundry basket and trades it in for another, cleaner one (he always manages to get them dirty _just_ after he finishes the laundry).

He’s just about to hurry back, when the thought strikes him - the dragon had been bleeding, right? They’d probably bled onto his old pjs by now, and sleeping in your own blood probably wasn’t a very good sensation. Just in case, he grabs another, newer pair of pjs from the drawer, and heads back in.

“Good. I knew I wouldn’t even have to ask you,” Elice says upon seeing the clothes in his arms. He hands them over to the dragon, and waits. Just as before, there’s no immediate attempt to change, so Elice gathers her supplies, the two retreat into the kitchen, and Marth finally asks the question floating in the back of his mind all this time.

“Do you think they’re gonna be okay? They’ve lost a lot of blood...”

“Ichor,” Elice corrects, though there’s a waver of uncertainty in her voice. “I think they’re one of the Divine Dragons - Fire dragon blood is hotter, more orange than this, and they wouldn’t have feathers like this one does. And I can’t be fully certain quite yet. Unfortunately, I just don’t have the means necessary to obtain replacement ichor - it’s extremely rare, if there even is any that’s still useable. Dragons are rather sturdy creatures, though - if they were a human, they might not have survived this long - and if they are divine, then their body should be able to repair itself faster. As long as they’re warm, well fed, hydrated, and get lots of rest and some medicine for that infection, hopefully their body will concentrate on replenishing their ichor.”

Slowly, the two peer around the corner, into the living room - the dragon had apparently changed quickly, and, in that short space of time, fallen asleep. Their chest rises and falls, slowly, and Marth is so enraptured that he fails to notice when Elice stops looking at them and starts looking at him. “I think,” she says, finally, “that my work here is done.” Her face grows serious. “Now, _do_ remember to feed yourself dinner, all right?”

“Do you not want to stay?” Marth asks, hopefully, but Elice shakes her head.

“I would, but it’s dinner with Merric tonight.”

Marth’s eyes widen. “That was tonight!?”

Elice laughs, but her seriousness fades away. “It was, but don’t worry about forgetting. If anyone can understand your need to take care of the poor, sickly, unfortunate creatures, it would be Merric.”

It’s true - the young mage had been one of the first Marth had tried to take care of - but it doesn’t stop him from flushing and muttering about it. “Oh, hush. Now,” Elice says, returning to business, “as you know, keeping them warm, fed, and hydrated is a priority. Change and reapply antibiotics and bandages every twelve hours - sooner if they’re bleeding through. Ibuprofen or acetaminophen to reduce pain and fever until morning, at least, if they need anything - rotate them, only give another dose if it’s been over six hours. I can prescribe some oral antibiotics, as well, if you think you’ll need them - but preferably in the morning, when I’m on office hours.”

There’s a smile tugging at the corners of her lips when she says that, and Marth can’t help but laugh. “All right, all right - I’ll let you go, then,” he says, heading to the door to open it for her. “Have fun with Merric-”

He pauses, knowing what he wants to say, but not quite able to. “And, thank you.”

Elice’s smile is gentle. “Oh, Marth,” she says, “I’ll do anything for my baby brother.”

**Author's Note:**

> I gravely misjudged the size of penthouses when I started writing this. I am Afraid
> 
> If I fucked up any of Elice's medical advice: I am not actually a doctor. Please let me know.


End file.
